


Switching Perspectives

by gigi2690



Category: Castle, Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigi2690/pseuds/gigi2690
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman selling an artifact is murdered and now Myka and Helena must work with Beckett and Castle to solve the case. Castle and H.G. bicker and tease; Myka and Beckett roll their eyes when they aren't bumping heads. Things go awry, artifact hijinks ensue... and the four of them discover that the murder is just the beginning of a far more insidious plot. Bering and Wells/Caskett</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not copy or duplicate on other sites or mediums without my consent.

Heel to pavement, a beautiful brunette poured into a small lavender number made her way over broken concrete and chipped paint to the back entrance of one of New York City's finest restaurants, Eleven Madison Park. The cool evening air was just a few degrees shy of pleasant and the thin silk did little in the way of providing heat. Her heel caught but her rather inelegant stumbling was cut short by warm arms and a tittering laugh down the back of her neck.

Helena looked absurdly attractive in her employee uniform, her sharp elegant features on display via a tight bun and rendered utterly devastating in dark slacks, a stiff white dress shirt and a black double-breasted waistcoat. The only deviation from convention came in the form of a small pocket watch poking out of the side pocket, a thin silver chain running along the length of the waistcoat to tie at the second to top button. All together the look was enticing to the point of distraction. Something Myka couldn't afford right now.

She pulled away from the grasp once she was steady, sending a small smile in Helena's direction but decidedly not lingering, it was long enough to catch the knowing smirk on Helena's face. She wished she could be annoyed, but she was pretty sure instead she was blushing; she tossed another look to the woman at her side, yes, she was blushing… she could always tell by the look in Helena's eyes:

It was the mischievous twinkle that Helena got whenever she managed to fluster her

Sometimes that gleam was the first thing she saw in the morning

Those eyes and a wet tongue teasing her until she trembled, raven locks tickling the inside of her thighs.

She shook her head, pulling open the door and heading into the building. There were employees bustling all around but they managed to avoid attention. Well almost. A number of the male employees were concentrated a good few inches below her eye line.

"Why is it, I'm the one in the heels and plunging neckline?" Helena grinned but she her gaze was intent on the most recent of Myka's admirers. Myka smiled internally as she watched the twenty-something waiter squirm and scurry away.

"Because darling, you look divine. You know how much I love when you dress up, and I know how much you love me in a tailored waistcoat. It is as Pete might say, a Win-win."

Myka snorted but didn't bother denying it. She ran her eyes appreciatively up the slender frame one last time before turning to take the main room of the restaurant. To say extravagant was an understatement. Rich cream walls shot up to a lofted ceiling that threatened to put a crick in her neck. Scattered about the room, round tables were draped in traditional white and adorned with orchids and intricately shaped napkins.

She hesitated by the entrance to the kitchens, turning to give Helena her full attention for the first time since they'd arrived. She tucked back a hair that had escaped Helena's bun, and bit down on her lower lip, gnawing it slightly as she troubled over her thoughts,

"Do you really think it could be this simple?" She let out a sigh before checking her watch. 15 minutes, "It might be a trap."

"Usually is." Helena grinned cheekily at her and Myka couldn't help but smile in return as her own words were thrown back at her.

That first case in California they worked together.

Back when the woman's motives were questionable,

Back when this coiling heat- this rush- that came from being with Helena was something she feared

She closed her eyes to relish the feeling a moment longer, their closeness, the excitement of a mission. Relishing was something she'd been doing a lot more of since Helena had died, gone, and returned to her, returned for her.

She made her way to the centre table and sat down, despite it being the dinner hour in an otherwise packed restaurant, the tables immediately surrounding her were cleared. It simultaneously made her feel secluded and on display. Helena had begun making her rounds, pouring drinks and taking orders with grace incongruent with someone who'd never waited tables. Myka had done it all through college and never managed even close to the ease with which Helena moved about the large restaurant.

Their target arrived a few minutes late for their designated meet: tall, broad shoulders, purposefully ruffled brown hair. She took in the stylish but understated tux before her eyes fell to the purple dress shirt just a shade darker than Myka's dress, even without that pre-agreed signal the tight knuckled grip on the briefcase at his side was a dead giveaway. She eyed him as he made his way over to her table, a nervous jerk in his gait as if he was telling himself to walk a certain way.

"Nicholas Seafort." Myka held back a smirk as she took his offered hand. It was a fake name-she recognized the reference- but she found herself liking the man a little more for it. She did have a weakness for science fiction.

"Joanne Murray." Myka didn't hold back the smile this time as 'Nicholas' raised her hand to his lips, but her amusement was from the dark piercing gaze she could feel aimed in their direction.

Myka studied the man as he busied himself unraveling the elaborately wrapped cloth napkin in front of him- a goose if Myka had to guess- before turning his attention to her. He met her eyes but just barely. She allowed him to engage her in small talk for a few moments, if only to put him at ease. He was nervous, but seemed relatively harmless, a bit of a flirt but to his credit he admirably avoided lingering on the rather impressive cleavage revealed by the halter of her gown.

Was it possible that for once everything would go to plan?

As the small talk puttered out-she wasn't working hard to keep it alive- she dared a glance to H.G; the woman was filling the wine glasses of a young couple a few tables down. Myka caught her throwing a rather withering look to their target before moving on to the next table. She could tell that her table companion was sizing her up, so she allowed it for a few seconds more, engaging in a more thorough sweep of the crowd. Everyone was well dressed and seemingly out to enjoy a pleasant Sunday night.

"Do you have it?" Her voice was steady even as the hairs rose on her arm. This was too easy.

'Nicholas' leaned back in his chair, smiling as a waiter approached and began pouring their waters, "I have a great many things Ms. Murray." His tone was light, but there was a strange edge to it.

Myka's brow furrowed, unsure whether he was trying to be coy or avoidant, "Do you have what we agreed upon?"

'Nicholas' leaned forward and placed his elbows on either side of his large plate, lacing his fingers together and regarding her coolly over his knuckles. The leather binding of his seat creaked in protest of the movement, but it seemed as if all other noises in the restaurant had faded away.

"Do you?" There was that tone again. Myka shook her head slightly, he was hiding something but she didn't sense any malicious intent. It was…disconcerting. She spotted Helena out of the corner of her eye, but the woman was engaged in a staring contest with a beautiful woman with brown hair streaked with gold (from the sun if the tan was anything to go by) in a striking blue gown. She was standing by the door, Myka would have thought her waiting for someone if not for the intent way she was eying Helena. That and the way she was holding the small clutch in her hand.

Myka frowned, looking back to the man to find him eying the two other women as well. She groaned,

"Of course it couldn't be simple. In, pay, acquire artifact, enjoy some nice cuisine…" it was under her breath but from the way the man was staring at her, not unheard. Not that she was trying to hide it, she'd already removed the glock from her thigh holster and had it cocked and waiting under the tablecloth. She had no intention of pulling it out here in a crowded restaurant unless she was given a reason to, but she no longer had any doubts of how this meeting was going.

This man didn't have the artifact and his partner had already made Helena. The question was whether he was the owner of the artifact but wanted to take their money and keep the artifact, if he had figured out she was government, or if he was someone else entirely.

"Who are you?" 'Nicholas' smiled but it seemed forced and cracked under Myka's expectant gaze,

"Nicholas Seafort-" Myka waved her free hand to halt what she expected would be a charming but misleading response. Myka knew how to handle someone with a silver tongue. She shared a bed with one.

"No. Nicholas Seafort is the protagonist in David Feintuch's futuristic novels." She didn't allow herself to enjoy the stunned expression on his face- the satisfaction of exceeding someone's expectations of her-instead she leaned closer, and lowered her voice to a deadly intensity that she'd used on Pete after he fed cotton candy to her ferret that resulted in him darting about the B&B like a furry bullet of chaos.

"Now, I just wanted to come out for a nice meal and simple business transaction. Either you have the artifact and are for some reason hesitating to meet our agreement, or you don't…in which case I'd like to no longer waste my time." He flinched at her tone and expression before calling out loudly,

"Goose is cooked! Goose is mightily cooked!" During their heated exchange both Helena and the other woman had been inching their way closer to the centre of the restaurant and at that utterly bizarre exclamation they both spun into motion. Well rather the other woman at his words, and Helena in reaction to now having a gun aimed at her.

There were some screams and shuffling as people got out of the way. Helena had her tesla aimed at the other woman, and Myka had removed her gun from its hiding place to level it more firmly at the man in front of her.

"Who are you and where's the artifact?" Her voice was calm and quiet and the sun-kissed brunette cocked an eyebrow as she studied her, and then Helena, and then back again. Some sort of debate clearly going on behind her eyes.

"Richard Castle. That's Detective Beckett. NYPD. And we have no idea what artifact you're talking about but if you killed Penelope Gonzales you'll have far bigger issues than a missing antique."

"Castle." Myka saw Helena's lip twitch in amusement at the other woman's exasperated tone.

Myka frowned, she recognized his name but was unsure why. Wait. Castle.

"What!? She's got a gun on me! And…" his eyes darted over to Helena a few feet away, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING?! Are you pointing a laser gun at us? Are you MIB? Because there was this one time where we got abducted-"

"CASTLE!"

"Right. Shutting up."

Helena kept her tesla trained on the tall brunette. The restaurant was mostly cleared, there were a few people cowering in various locations. Myka sighed. Just great, an entanglement with local law enforcement. Artie hated getting them out of these situations.

"If you two really are Police then I'm sure we can get this all sorted."

As if on cue, all hell broke loose.

The first bullet missed Myka only by a few centimeters, she could feel its phantom brush against her side as it passed; she barely overturned the table before she felt the next one collide with the wood. Castle was crouching with her. She assessed his state- she could use an ally right now. His eyes were clear- alarmed but not panicking. For a mystery writer it appeared he'd seen his share of action working with the NYPD.

She was putting her small backup gun in his palm before she could think better of it. He looked at her with wide eyes,

"How did you manage to fit two guns in that dress?!" He was yelling against the roar of shattering wood and plaster and the ringing of falling shells on tile.

She shot him her best 'Really, now?' look (she'd perfected it with Pete over the years). He shrugged before glancing up at the rim of the overturned table. The shots were still too close together, either there were a lot of them or someone had a semi-automatic. It would be suicide to try and return fire. She didn't know where Helena was, and she could see Castle's fear for his own partner painted in every line of his face.

After a minute there was a pause in fire. Castle's grip on his gun spoke of someone who'd fired before but it still looked awkward in his hands, "Stay here. Stay down." Her tone was demanding, but she had no idea whether he would listen to her. He thought she might be a murderer after all.

She darted away, bent and head down until she could duck behind a thick marble column. From her new position she could see Detective Beckett hiding behind another overturned table; she was engaged in a steel volley with a bulky man in a ski mask. The bulk of the fire was aimed at where she and Castle had sat, originating from somewhere outside of Myka's line of sight. And on top of everything, she couldn't find Helena.

The man in the ski mask seemed to go down in slow motion, Beckett was already on her feet making a dash for Castle who was about two feet from being confronted with another man in a ski mask that had come out of nowhere. And then they were on the ground and Myka stopped mid step in her attempt to help because, well, the detective clearly didn't need it from the way the guy was squealing.

Myka never enjoys taking a life, always looks for an alternative, but seeking another way is not the same as hesitating. Myka doesn't flinch. She took the shot. The third man fell to his knees, gun still raised at detective Beckett before Myka finished him off with a headshot. Her free hand twitched at the sight, but her face didn't betray her.

A bullet had splintered one of the tables and a sliver had cut into Castle's forehead. It didn't look deep enough to scar, but was bleeding profusely. Beckett held his face in one palm and a napkin to the wound with the other. It was a decidedly tender moment, and Myka felt she was intruding. They weren't trying to arrest her, but from the sound of the approaching sirens she wouldn't get far and they knew that. She sighed and looked around, where was Helena? They couldn't have got her could they?

She ran from one end of the restaurant to the other, turning over tables and looking under booths, there weren't any bodies… thank god their standoff with NYPD had already cleared most of the place. As she neared the bar she heard a low but unmistakable moan. Myka vaulted over the counter, landing by H.G's side. She had nasty red lines along her neck, pale blue finger indents already blossoming along the hollow of her throat.

Helena opened her eyes slowly to look up at the brunette, her voice so scratchy it took Myka a moment to understand the words, "Used the tesla but I don't believe it was meant for nethanderals, the giant brute of a man just kept coming and next thing I know…" one hand weakly waved at her own prone body amongst the various broken liquor bottles.

Myka pulled Helena's upper body into her lap and began inspecting the raven-haired woman's head for other signs of injury. Helena sighed against the gentle but persistent touch before continuing, "I rather got the impression that he wasn't after me. I was the one in his way…he was very keen on reaching you and Richard Castle though."

Myka frowned, Helena's observations only further supported what she was already thinking, "This was about the artifact. I have a feeling we've jumped into a game in which we don't yet know all the players."

"So what's our next step?"

"How about being taken in for questioning about what the hell just happened?"

Helena and Myka both jumped –well Myka jumped and Helena bobbled in her arms- and turned to face detective Beckett staring down at them over the bar counter. Castle was at her side, holding a half crimson napkin to his head. Beckett looked angry, but it was a kind of anger Myka knew well, the kind that demanded answers. Myka found herself wishing she were allowed to give them to her.

Beckett was clearly uncomfortable when cuffing them, Myka wondered if it was because she sensed they were the good guys or just unease as a result of Myka having saved her life.

When it was Helena's turn she looked at Myka over Beckett's shoulder, "I much prefer it when you're the one cuffing me darling." Myka willed herself not to flush, and managed a deceptively easy smile. She knew what Helena was doing, throwing them off balance- and if it embarrassed Myka in the process, all the better.

From Castle's sputtering and cartoonish eyes, Helena had succeeded.

"While my mind went to a deliciously dirty place just now, I sense a story there… I have a nose for these things." He grinned at them both preening in a manner both charming and irritating, he reminded Myka oddly of an amalgamation of both Pete and Helena's personalities. She bit her cheek to prevent the laugh that bubbled up at the thought.

Helena inclined her head in concession to his insight but she didn't answer until a few minutes later. Not until they'd passed the yellow tape and two detectives that seemed to know Beckett and Castle. Not until they both were in the back of the police car and Beckett was putting the car into drive,

"Our first meeting, Joanne and I, it was a rather tense affair, but I won her over eventually." Myka chuckled at the smugness of her tone, but her heart clenched at the weight layered into the words- denied the context it went unnoticed by their company-a hidden frequency for Myka's ears only.

"Are you two like some criminal couple? Lawless Lesbians. Sounds like the set up for an adult film…" He trailed off.

"I'm afraid we can't tell you what you want to know." Helena's voice was soft but left no room for misinterpretation.

"Oh you'll tell us what we need to know. I've now got 3 new bodies on my hands on top of Penelope Gonzales and whatever is going on you two are in the thick of it." Myka couldn't help but respect the other woman, perhaps after they found their artifact they could steer the police in the direction of the guilty parties.

The rest of the car ride passed in silence.

~.~.~

Castle allowed Lanie to check him out in order to appease Beckett, but it seemed to do little good. The worry just gave way to agitation, and it wasn't just the case.

"You aren't jealous about that woman are you?" Castle had dealt with Beckett's jealous side numerous times over the years, and actually admitting their feelings and engaging in a relationship only made the woman more possessive…. not that Castle was going to deny the appeal, it was hot, but it was also frustrating when he unwittingly ended up on the end of Beckett's wrath.

"No!" Her objection was quick, he looked for her tell-they'd been playing lots of strip poker at her apartment lately-but saw only honest exasperation.

"Good. Because that would be silly. Beautiful as she may be I have an even more gorgeous girlfriend," his voice lowered as he drifted as close as he dared in the precinct, "not to mention I'm pretty sure she's got a hot girlfriend of her own."

Beckett shook her head, her expression torn between reacting to his sweet sentiment or the crass words that followed, "Speaking of. It's been an hour. I think we've let them stew for long enough."

Castle opened his mouth to ask why she hadn't separated them, but thought better of it. It bothered him a little to see them both still cuffed when they entered the interrogation room, the woman in lavender had saved Beckett's life after all.

"The police detective and the writer." The curly haired woman looked amused, not the common reaction to the harsh glare of florescent lights and Beckett. Castle couldn't help but be intrigued, his mind returned to how she'd easily easily seen through his literary inspired cover,

"So you've heard of my work? What do you think of my books?" He sat down and laced his fingers together, Beckett bristled at his side for a moment before sitting in the remaining chair.

The woman opened her mouth but was interrupted by her companion before she could answer (the marks on her neck looked ugly but the woman had denied medical attention),

"Oh. A writer? Anything I know?"

"Yes, Derek Storm, Nikki Heat, I lent you a few of his books." He watched recognition dawn on her face,

"So?" He was trying hard not to sound eager. He was a best selling novelist whose work had turned into comic books and now a feature film, he did not need validation from some badass ladies with strange weaponry in search of antiques. And didn't that sound like the plot of one of those B movies that are always on at 3am.

The raven-haired woman shrugged, before pulling out a pocket watch of all things from her pocket and checking the time, "I found it a bit…plebian."

"Plebian!" He knew slack jawed was not an attractive look on him but he couldn't help it. Plebian. The woman smirked slightly and Castle couldn't tell if she was enjoying his annoyance or if his chain was being yanked.

Beckett clearly had listened to enough, "Who are you? Because you aren't Joanne Murray. Her paper trail stops 4 years ago. And you," she turned to the woman in the suit, "you haven't even bothered to give me a fake name to run. Now I need to know what you know about Penelope Gonzales and about what happened tonight." She turned to look at them both evenly, her patience thin, "Now I don't think you two killed her, but you are involved and I am your ticket out of it."

There was silence for a moment. Neither woman's expressions gave anything away; they didn't even look at each other.

Finally the woman in lavender leaned forward and rested her bound hands on the table, they clanked awkwardly and Castle cleared his throat.

She made him nervous, they both did, but the way she'd talked to him in the restaurant had been positively frightening. And living with his mother and working with Beckett every day…that was saying something.

"Listen I'd love to help you, but we have our own investigation and have nothing to do with that murder or what happened tonight." She seemed honestly apologetic; the word 'investigation' rang loudly in his ears. Was she government? Secret agent? There was that laser gun to contend with. "Now let me tell you how this is going to go, you'll receive a call soon, your captain will receive an order from farther up the chain of command than you can reach and we'll walk out of here."

Castle's brow raised, he was impressed, the secret agent thing sounding more likely by the minute. He didn't have to look at Beckett to tell she was fuming. The woman in the tux was regarding her companion intently, looking if Castle had to put a name to it, aroused.

He popped the button on his collar. He looked again. Scary lady of lavender was meeting the eyes of the sexy British critic with the same intensity. Alexis had taught him a new word the other day when he accused him and Beckett of engaging in eyesex. He hadn't understood what she meant…until now. He popped another button.

There was a pounding on the glass.

~.~.~

The room they'd chosen was empty, but Myka's eyes darted around anyway. Helena was looking out of the break room window to where Beckett and Castle were arguing in front of a large white board covered in pictures and papers.

Her eyes returned to Artie's face in the Farnsworth, trying to understand what he was telling her,

"I assumed we'd keep our cover and continue investigating."

"Well the murder is connected to the artifact… you and the police may very well be looking for the same person or persons." His words made sense, but it broke protecal and it wasn't like they hadn't worked around local law enforcement before. There was an odd edge to his voice- a silent pleading not to question him, so of course, she did.

"Artie, what's going on?"

"Nothing." His hasty response brought Helena's eyes to the Farnsworth. Both of them uncomfortable with Artie holding anything back ever since the Astrolabe, ever since Leena.

"Artie…"

"Richard Castle's a good man." Myka quirked an eyebrow, that was hardly an explanation. He only fidgeted for a few more moments before explaining,

"I know his father, the man saved my life," there was a long pause, heavy under the weight of everything left unsaid, "Be as open with them as you can without breaking the rules. Help them find their killer, get the artifact, and get back here. Claudia's redoing the security systems again and Pete keeps setting them off by accident…" the rest of his grumbling was cut off as he hung up.

…

"I'm Agent Myka Bering and this is Agent Helena Wells. We're with the secret service. And we'd like to assist with your case."

Going from a confrontation at gunpoint to interrogation to helping on the case was not an easy transition. All parties were a little uncomfortable as Castle and Beckett filled them in on the case. They were clearly wondering how the Secret Service was involved in their murder investigation, Myka and Helena were busy trying to figure out the same thing, and everyone was very much aware that they were only working together because their respective bosses had said to play nice.

Myka began to hit it off with Beckett after a while. She was clearly tough, intelligent, guarded but warm, Myka couldn't help but feel a certain kinship. She pointed out something else on the white board in front of them and watched Beckett absorb her words and formulate her counterpoint.

She used the pause to turn and look at H.G. The woman was perched on a desk a few feet away, she met Myka's gaze warmly. Castle was beside her, his gaze flickering between the three women periodically.

Castle eyed the raven-haired woman at his side.

"Can I ask you something?" The woman didn't look his way, but her lip twitched slightly as she responded,

"Clearly you've just proven yourself able." Castle shook his head, wondering if this was how Beckett felt sometimes,

"You said earlier that when you two first met…it was tense?" She laughed at his question, shaking her head slightly as she ran her fingers through her hair- mussing it up only to fall perfectly back in place (it was a display he had grown used to from being around Beckett),

"An understatement to be sure. She held me at gunpoint." Castle let out a low whistle,

"Ooo harsh. I only got taken in for questioning." Wells finally turned to look at him appraisingly, slowly eyes of cold onyx turned to the warm hue of his favourite Columbian dark roast. Castle hoped this meant he was starting to gain the trust of the somewhat prickly Brit. He'd been trying to strike her up in conversation since Agent Bering and Beckett had broken off to discuss Lanie's findings on the bodies from the restaurant.

"That's nothing, the second time…." Castle's eyes widened at her words,

"Oh tell me! Please? Was it sexy?" The question came out teasing and slightly childish, but he found it was an approach that worked for most people.

Her grin turned into something positively lecherous and he felt himself lean in closer in excitement.

"Well, I've never been much for erotic asphyxiation play, but after that day I admit I see the allure."

Castle gulped. His eyes shot between Agent Bering and Agent Wells. He cursed the vividness of his imagination. Wells simply grinned.


	2. Chapter 2

Castle loved 'Professional Beckett'. There were times where that was the only side he was privy to. He fell in love with the way her nose crinkled as she pored over case files; he fell for the way a single glare could reduce a tattooed drug dealer to tears. So yes, Castle loved 'Professional Beckett' just as much as 'Sci-Fi Geek Beckett' and '3am post-coital can't stop smiling Beckett.'

And now Beckett was being professional with someone else-stepping out on him- debating theories with Agent Bering, and it was hardly in the name of cooperation. Castle had seen her dig in those deadly and impractical heels and refuse to budge for other 'joint investigations,' no, she was avoiding him. Why, he still had no idea. And now -ironically considering what he'd accused Beckett of earlier- he was jealous.

Beckett was discussing something with Agent Bering… and he needed to work on his lip reading abilities. They were both still in their evening ware (Castle knew the only reason Beckett hadn't changed yet was because she didn't want to leave the agents alone around their evidence), and were attracting quite a bit of attention.

The squad room was trying to be subtle, but there were officers walking by that didn't even belong on the floor. It was a hard sight to ignore, the blue of Kate's dress contrasted beautifully with her sun kissed skin. And Agent Bering, well, her lavender silk gown's side slit had ripped up dangerously high, revealing one long toned thigh and a tight black thigh holster.

"She's upset with you, and you do not know why." Castle jumped at the soft voice. Agent Wells had wandered off some time ago and he hadn't heard her return to his side against the desks. She was now nursing what smelled like some sort of herbal tea- he wasn't sure where she got it as the precinct wasn't exactly known for its chamomile - and watching the two women by the whiteboard. Tea. So very classically British. Castle was distracted for a good minute by the oddity of a British Secret Service Agent before the woman's words finally sunk in.

"How did you-"

"Genius IQ, Government agent's observation skills, woman's insight –believe what you wish, but I do."

Castle sat up straight, turning away from his study of Beckett's back to regard Agent Wells. She'd undone her cufflinks, sleeves rolled up and flaring out at the elbows. All preparation to beg for insight died as he caught sight of the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He knew that look; he'd perfected that look. His sigh was purposefully exaggerated as he tried to curb his frustration, "And you aren't going to tell me."

"No Mr. Castle. I believe it makes for a very conducive exercise in observation," her grin suggested that she got no small amount of amusement from the situation, "You work with the police, you like puzzles, what truth could I have discerned about Detective Beckett and your relationship with such limited contact?"

Castle held her gaze, trying and failing to read the woman. Her expression gave away nothing. Okay. He'd figure it out. He'd call her bluff. Until then…

"Okay I just gotta know, what is up with the steampunk's wet dream of a laser gun?"

Agent Wells squinted and tilted her head to the side, "Right, I don't know what that means, but it is not a laser gun Mr. Castle."

"Sure looks like a laser gun-"

"It's more like those electric prods, I believe you call them tasers, only it shoots a beam of electricity rather than through direct contact."

"Huh." He was taking in the look on her face more than the words themselves. Every smile, every look the two agents exchanged, it all told of secrets. Hopefully this case would give him the opportunity to learn more about this secret division -that clearly wasn't the secret service –and he wouldn't mind probing into the enigmas that were Agents Bering and Wells… maybe he'd get an idea for a book out of it…that is if he wasn't forced to sign a bunch of nondisclosure agreements like with their run in with the CIA.

~.~.~

They'd been getting along moderately well-as well as two dominant personalities forced into congress can-hashing out the case from their separate angles. With minimal stumbling around warehouse secrets, they'd managed to fill in a few gaps. All throughout there had been this tension hanging in the air and buried in their words, kept to a low sizzle by mutual if reluctant respect, but threatening to boil over each time Myka evaded one of Beckett's questions. There was one that Myka knew the Detective couldn't resist,

"You arranged a meet with our murder victim to purchase an artifact?" And here it comes. "I'd love to ask why the Secret Service would be purchasing 'artifacts',"

-her tone made clear that she doubted the nature of their mission. Perhaps that would be for the best; better she think they were after a flash drive of missile codes or a dangerous airborne toxin rather than a truth that could lead her to ask the right sort of questions. Myka suspected Beckett was the type of detective that would keep pushing if she caught a scent-

"from civilians," she shot Myka a droll look over the top of her raised manila file, "but I have a feeling you aren't going to tell me." Beckett's eyes dropped back down to her file, eyes poring over the autopsy reports of the shooters from the restaurant (for the third time if Myka's count was correct.)

Myka rolled through procedure; through the clean cut fortune cookie answers she's given in this job. Lies to protect. And yet, Myka struggled to use one of these lines now, there was something about the detective that Myka understood. To a woman like Detective Beckett-like Myka-lies are the greatest poison; they keep you from understanding, from finding the truth. Her mind went to Sam.

"Detective, I'm sure in your line of work you've seen people kill over all sorts of things," Beckett didn't look up but her eyes stopped scanning the page, ceased her fingers restless drumming against the rim of her empty mug, "the artifact we seek is highly valuable to certain parties. I'm afraid you were right earlier, a lot of what is going on is above your clearance" Beckett's jaw tightened but Myka plowed on,

"and I'm sorry about that. In your shoes I'd be extremely frustrated, but we are here to find this artifact and I am fairly certain the person or persons currently in possession of it will lead you to your killer. Now…" She through a look over her shoulder to Helena and Castle, both staring unabashedly, "I'm sure you've already realized that whoever tried to shoot us this evening was a yet unknown 3rd party."

Beckett straightened in her chair, annoyance clearing as duty took over, "They were after the same thing you were. We should try and find out whom Penelope Gonzales told about the artifact."

"Did you search the victim's hard drive, see if there were any other buyers?" Beckett shook her head, pulling out the bobby pins in order to unravel her updo. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, "There was nothing on there. We had very little information about the meeting, just a post it that gave a time, place and instructions to 'wear lavender.'"

"But why would that be specified in the note?" Helena's voice cut in. Apparently Castle and H.G had noticed that their adversarial pissing match was over-at least for the time being-and decided it was safe to come over. Helena eyed the three blank faces before explaining,

"If she were the one selling the artifact, she would have chosen everything so why write a reminder on a post-it?" Helena made her way to the white board, making sure to brush skin-warmed cotton against Myka's exposed back as she passed.

"She's like the guy in Momento?" The only response to Castle's suggestion came in the form of two pairs of rolling green eyes. Helena was studying an evidence bag hanging from the board.

"It would appear she was writing down instructions. I believe Miss Gonzales was a front, probably paid or coerced into selling the artifact."

Castle was nodding excitedly; Beckett spoke up first, "Okay, but who would do that? And why?"

Castle opened his mouth but Beckett raised a hand to cut him off, "Don't say spies…" he opened his mouth again and again was interrupted, "or any other crazy theories."

Castle pouted obviously caught, "Oh come on Beckett. Look at who we're working with," he gestured vaguely in their direction before turning sharply to look at the agents, "no offense!"

"None taken." Myka didn't even have to look, able to clearly picture the smirk in her mind's eye, Helena's voice always lilted in a certain way when she was enjoying herself.

Beckett was looking between Castle and them, a woman caught between a rock and an even harder rock. She finally let her gaze rest on Myka, her eyes as close as pleading as they could be without real vulnerability, "Please tell me we're not dealing with spies. The last time we got involved with spies my car ended up in the river."

Myka shook her head-although honestly she couldn't rule it out entirely-"No spies."

Helena cut in, "Although, Castle's 'crazy' theories may actually be more accurate than you realize. The cases we work on are often described as somewhat…" she turned to Myka for help,

"Freaky." Helena sniffed daintily at Myka's choice of words, but kept silent.

If Castle looked excited before it was nothing to the sugar rushed kid at Disney world currently fidgeting against Detective Beckett's desk, "BEST CASE EVER!" Beckett winced at his volume, but the intrigue was unmistakable in her eyes.

~.~

Beckett was torn from a space battle featuring Nikki Heat and Electra by the buzzing of her cell phone. She eased up as far as she could on the headboard without dislodging the large hand wrapped protectively around her waist, "Beckett." Her voice was hoarse. It had been a night of too much coffee and too little sleep, and damn if her calves weren't gonna ache for being too stubborn to change out of her heels last night. "Be right there." She turned to her sleeping companion, unable to resist smiling down at him. Bright and mussed in the early morning light, he looked so devastatingly young. Her eyes were drawn to the small even stitching, pale broken skin and a rosy swelling along the temple. Her expression darkened.

She withdrew from his embrace-uncurling one finger at a time-and ignoring how he pawed at her pillow as she stood and left the room. She was greeted by the smell of coffee, a little overdone. Alexis. She'd been staying with Rick ever since Paris. Rick was worried she wasn't sleeping… he didn't know what to do… it didn't help that he was just as scarred by the whole experience as his daughter. So very many nights…

Soft fingertips across the stubble lining his jaw,

Blunt nails along his scalp,

Reverent nonsensical mutterings…(that which only love can bring to your lips, the secrets of your heart whispered and blessedly drowned out by the frantic beating of his heart and the harsh pull of his breath.)

Bedtime checks under the bed weren't cutting it, for either of them.

Alexis was perched on kitchen island counter. Her fingers wrapped around a mug, expression blank and unseeing. Beckett poured them both some cereal- internally grateful when the redhead took the offered bowl without argument- and leaned against the counter opposite the young woman.

"Dead body?" The girl's voice was deceptively absent of emotion.

"No. A lead." Beckett took a long sip, welcoming the caffeine back into her body like an old friend.

"Will it be dangerous?" Beckett bounced awkwardly from one sock clad foot to the other, fingers subconsciously reaching for her father's watch…

"Alexis, do you remember what I told you when your father and grandmother were being held in that bank?" Alexis had yet to touch her food, absently pushing her spoon through soon-to-be soggy cereal; she took a few moments before finally meeting Beckett's eyes,

"You said you'd bring them back to me." Beckett nodded, her fingers reached forwards for Alexis's hand only to falter and grab an apple from the fruit bowl centerpiece instead.

"And I will keep bringing him home to you. Always," She fidgeted against the counter under the weight of the girl's gaze, "Even if it means I cannot follow." Thankfully, she was saved from glassy doe eyes by the light tread of footsteps on aged oak. Castle looked adorable in his thick cotton robe and fluffy dog-eared slippers.

Beckett pulled away from the counter; She slipped past Castle, sliding the apple into his palm and placing a kiss to his cheek, "No time for breakfast, wear the vest."

~.~

"We should be waiting in the car." She was annoyed by the whining timbre of her voice, but despite the assertions of the Firefly Calendar Claudia had gifted her-

_"Really H.G. they are badass cowboys in space. It's futuristic nostalgia! And the issues with authority, it's right up your alley!"_

-it most certainly didn't feel like spring yet. She ran her fingers over thick cashmere, luxuriating in the feel as much as the warmth. In her old life it would take a seamstress weeks to get material of this quality, and all it had taken her was a trip to a store and a small bit of plastic.

Myka was in front of her then, taking Helena's hands into her own, rubbing patterns against her palms, breathing out warmth across her knuckles.

"What we should be doing is clearing the building. They could be in there right now. Our artifact could be in there right now." If Helena was fidgeting out of cold, Myka was squirming out of sheer tense, anticipation.

"Now darling, Arthur told us to cooperate," H.G glanced down at her watch, unsure why she was arguing about a course of action that would result in warmth, unsure when exactly she started being the good little soldier, tugging the boss's line…she supposed she was still striving for redemption. Not that she ever expected to find it…

Redemption was not meant for those whose hands were stained in innocent blood;

But sometimes when saving a life from a dangerous wonder,

Sometimes late at night with the warm breath of Myka in her ear and against her back,

Sometimes, she came close.

"Cooperate. Yeah right. You know how this goes Helena, we go in artifact craziness and then we're pinning the blame on bad mushrooms again."

"Relax darling, and if we must work with local law enforcement, Detective Beckett and Mr. Castle are competent and refreshingly unorthodox."

"Why thank you I think." The detective's voice came a few moments before the rest of her, her partner a few steps behind. Myka bristled at being snuck up on, but Helena was too busy being charmed by the scrawl across the man's bulletproof vest. 'Writer.'

Myka filled them in, switching the safety off her gun with one hand and sliding curly locks from her eyes with the other, "We've checked the perimeter and barricaded the other entrances. There's a car around back; the engine was still warm when we called you."

Helena wasn't sure if she was surprised that the writer didn't carry a firearm. Truth be told Helena was a smidgeon jealous of the man. He held the same love of the macabre, under the same thrall, but he was capable of walking in the often dark and insidious world of crime and murder without being tainted by it… while still able to keep a life, a family. Seeing him walking confidant but unarmed behind Detective Beckett only drove that sliver of jealousy in deeper.

"How'd you guys find this place?" Beckett entered in front with Myka-Helena yielded the lead- the brunette towered over Helena even without the heeled boots.

"It was on the victim's hard drive."

"There wasn't anything on the hard drive." Castle and Beckett both spoke at once. Myka shot Helena an amused look over her shoulder before responding,

"No offense to your tech analysts, but we have extensive resources."

"As in-" Helena smirked at Castle's attempt to prod for more information, he'd been doing that frequently. It was a dangerous game for him to play, even more dangerous that she continued to allow it,

"As in we have a Claudia." She pretended not to notice Castle dramatically mouthing the name at Beckett, choosing to distract herself instead with the half lit hall. What had appeared from the outside to be an abandoned warehouse was more of an abandoned hotel. Long hallways lined with doors, except rat droppings and dirt instead of tacky carpeting.

Their pace was slow as they made their way down the hall, checking each room as they passed. Each one empty and caked in dust, but the lit kerosene lamps scattered haphazardly along walls of the hall were a brazen symbol of recent occupancy.

Eventually the hall opened up, leading into a grande ballroom. For the utter squalor of most of the building, the long marble columns and intricately carved molding gave her pause. They made their way down another hall, and then another, but each time they either ran into one of the entrances they'd barricaded or were funneled back into the ballroom.

After the third circle, Castle started humming.

"Really Castle?" Beckett was rolling her eyes, but Castle just shrugged and grinned,

"Seriously, I'm the only one getting the Hotel California vibe?" Myka was hiding a smile behind her hand; Helena made a note to inquire about the reference later.

They lingered in the ballroom now, unwilling to walk the same empty halls but painfully aware they were not alone in the building. Castle wandered over to the bar at the south wall.

"This isn't the time for a drink Castle." Helena wasn't sure if the detective was joking, not with the reverent way he was stroking a scotch bottle cradled against the wall behind the bar.

"Beckett you may remember our last case involving bootlegger secret passages…"

"And…?" Beckett sounded impatient but she was watching Castle intently.

Castle was still running his fingers along the neck of the same bottle of scotch, "And no bartender worth his salt would ever put a 40 Year Old Glenfarclas between two bottles of Tanqueray." With a certain showmanship he pulled the bottle from its perch, waving his hand with a flourish as the wall behind the bar swung open.

Helena bit back a chuckle at the heated look on Beckett's face, it would seem out of place if she wasn't so very familiar with the feeling- the rush of solving a puzzle with her love- the arousal borne of perfect synchrony, in both body and mind.

There were no lamps in the tunnel, forcing them to rely on their torches. Her torch glinted off of steel. There were chains hanging open and extending from a bar bolted to the wall.

"Remember Myka, my safe word is apples." Her quip did little to ease either of their nerves, but the strange strangled sound from Castle made it worth it.

If the hallway had seemed run down, it was nothing compared to the rancid smell greeting them in the dark. Helena's normally strong digestion quaked in gratitude for the shadows. There was one smell Helena knew well, someone nearby was dead.

They came around a turn to find a light coming from the end of the tunnel. Quickening their pace they tried to step lightly, the passageway only wide enough for one of them to go at a time.

"Am I, then, at least not something?" The voice was loud, originating from down by the light at the end of the passageway, "But I before denied that I possessed senses or a body; I hesitate, however, for what follows from that? Am I so dependent on the body and the senses that without these I cannot exist?"

They were running now… Myka in the lead, then Beckett, Helena, and Castle in the rear. Helena recognized the text, of course she did, it was their artifact. They had to reach him before, before they heard too much.

"But I had the persuasion that there was absolutely nothing in the world, that there was no sky and no earth, neither minds nor bodies; was I not, therefore, at the same time, persuaded that I did not exist?" The voice was calm even as they thundered down on them.

They tumbled into to the room, eyes darting around for any sign of movement. The walls were lined with papers, surveillance pictures tacked in with thumbnails.

"Far from it; I assuredly existed, since I was persuaded."

And everything went black.

…

Her head was pounding. The light that had once seemed dim now blared against the back of her skull. Her hands pawed at her head…

…something

…she ran her hand down her frame,

… was

… along the stitching of her vest,

…very

…'Writer'

…wrong.

She turned to look at Detective Beckett. The woman was looking down at herself, pawing at her clothes in a similar fashion. Beckett turned to face her, the frown on her face eerily familiar,

"I told you so."

Helena balked, "I beg your pardon?"

"I believe you need a shave Helena." Helena ran her palm along her jaw, feeling the stubble before turning her gaze to her too large hands,

"Oh dear."

Lying across from them, Beckett and Castle in their own bodies had yet to awaken. Something told H.G that 'bad mushrooms' wasn't going to cover matters.


	3. Chapter 3

He was warm. His fingers ran across soft cashmere. That was strange. Wasn’t he wearing his vest earlier? Castle’s eyes slowly blinked open to find himself lying prone on rough, cracked cement. His limbs felt odd, and his head was pounding like a sailor on shore leave. Agent Bering was beside him, she was also coming to.

 

He scanned the walls; they were covered in surveillance photos. Some of them were of their victim, Penelope Gonzales, the others were of a young man with a goatee and some balding man in his mid-forties. And that smell…Castle’s eyes were drawn to the corner of the room. Well, there was the balding man. Great. Another dead body. Even for a homicide, there seemed to be an awful lot of dead bodies connected to this case.

 

Agent Bering was also eying the dead body, her frown oddly familiar, “I’ll call it in. We can have the techs sweep the whole building as it doesn’t look like was killed here.” She pulled out a strange device from the lining of her jacket, and glanced down at it bewildered, “What in the-”

 

“I wouldn’t do that just yet.” Castle’s head spun to the other side of the room where Beckett…and him…were leaning against the only area of the wall not covered in pictures. His jaw dropped, but then, it wasn’t his jaw. He felt his face in wonderment before turning to look at long, thin, very feminine fingers. His eyes then fell southward, and he just barely refrained from grabbing. Even in the most bizarre of situations he liked to consider himself a gentleman. But by god, he had boobs! His eyes darted back to Agent Bering; she was wearing the same astonished confusion Castle suspected he too was sporting. Wait.

 

“Beckett?” His voice sounded strange, his American accent shining through on the Brit’s tongue, but strangely lilted. Agent Bering-No, Beckett- as he was now fairly certain, was darting her eyes between their own bodies and …well…their own bodies. Castle swallowed a groan. Pronouns were about to get really complicated.

 

Castle watched in bemusement as his own tall frame cocked a hip and crossed  ** _his_**  arms, “We should probably clear a few things up before we involve anyone else,” her-his-her eyes shifted to the dead body in the corner, “He isn’t going anywhere.”

 

Castle swallowed thickly, “Huh. I always wondered what I’d sound like with a British accent,” he looked to his partner and then back at their bodies, “I’ve never been able to pull one off.” Agent Wells' opinion on the "British" accent, however, was evident in the slight sneer that was out of place on his usually open and ever so charming face.

 

Beckett seemed to snap out of her daze and proceeded to slap him on the arm, “Now? You’re joking now? Clearly we’ve had some head trauma. Or have been exposed to some hallucinatory agent. Or-” Beckett’s hands ran through her hair, or tried to before they got knotted in thick curls, “This is ridiculous. This cannot be happening.”

 

Castle smiled at the two agents, “Can you guys give us a moment?” He watched perplexed as his body waved invitingly with an oddly outdated grace, “Take your time. I know it’s a lot to comprehend at first.”

 

Castle’s new hands wavered in the air before settling on Beckett’s shoulders; he rubbed them up and down her arms in a gesture that had always worked on Beckett in the past. He absently wondered if that was still the case, if the soothing effect of the act was connected to Beckett’s body or more psychological, “Beckett-”

 

“Castle, I don’t know if I can deal with this.” Her eyes were closed tight, as if talking to him was too difficult if she had to look at him in this form, “What if we’re drugged and this is some hallucination, or maybe we’re both lying in hospital beds right now and this is all some figment-”

 

“Kate,” She stopped, finally blinking her eyes open at the almost pleading use of her first name, “Remember that night during the Bigfoot case-”

 

“It wasn’t actually Bigfoot.” Castle grinned-her interruption telling him that she wasn’t completely freaked-before continuing on,

 

“You told me you believe in the magic of the everyday, that you needed to believe what you could see and touch and understand.” Her eyes are scanning his face, clearly trying to see  _him_ staring back at her.

 

“Look at yourself. Look at me,” he gestured down at his breasts and let out a huff of laughter, “ This is happening. We can see it, touch it.” his hands were still hovering over his breasts and his brain sidetracked until snapping back to attention at Beckett’s exasperated sigh, “It’s happening, and did you notice how calm they are?” He tilted his head to the agents currently wearing their bodies on the other side of the room, “I have a feeling they not only have some idea what’s going on but have seen  _weirder_.”

 

His grin couldn’t be contained at that point. He’d been trying to rein in his excitement for Beckett’s sake, but it was undoubtedly awesome. For years he’d believed in the supernatural; for years he’d waved away people’s laughter and scorn with a smile and a quip. But it was real. He had been right.

 

He watched Beckett take in a deep, centering breath, before releasing it slowly through her nose and shaking her head, “You can say it you know.”

 

Castle’s grin widened, playing dumb, “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“You were right. Paranormal, supernatural I don’t know what body swapping classifies as but…you can say it. You can say I told you so.”

 

He smirked, positively preening as he adjusted the hem of the sweater he was wearing-making a mental note to buy more cashmere when this was all over-but then he saw the look on her face. Beckett was still clearly struggling to deal with this, “Nah. This is so cool, I don’t need to gloat.”

 

That ever-so-small, grateful smile made his valiant restraint worth it. It looked the same; the face didn’t matter. It was her. Just as the determined look that overtook her features as she turned to face the agents was ALL Beckett, “Right. So something tells me you two know exactly what in the hell is going on. I think it’s time you filled us in.”

 …

 

Castle clapped his hands together, positively bouncing in excitement, “Artifacts with magical capabilities? Best. Case. Ever!”

 

Agent Bering was watching him amused, “You need to keep this to yourselves. No telling anyone in your precinct. Which means you need to act like us, and we like you.”

 

Agent Wells scoffed (Castle was pretty sure he’d never looked so haughty), “Which means you need to practice behaving with some dignity Mr. Castle.” Castle heard Beckett mumble ‘fat chance’ under her breath.

 

“I can be dignified!” Great. Now Beckett, Beckett’s Body and his own body were smirking at him, this was like one of his dreams after a B movie late night marathon and too much rocky road ice cream, “Well, then, you need to act less dignified.” He stuck out his tongue, just to be difficult.

 

Agent Bering smothered her laughter behind her hand before turning to Agent Wells and muttering, “The imagery alone from this is worth facing Artie’s wrath.”

 

Castle rubbed at the back of his neck, momentarily distracted by the silky strands in his way, “Uh, we have to fool more than just the precinct. There’s my mother, and Alexis is staying at my place.”

 

“Who is Alexis?”

 

Castle wasn’t sure why he assumed they knew, probably the shadowy secret agency thing, “My daughter.”

 

“You have a daughter.”

 

Castle’s brow rose, unsure as to the reason behind the weighted and slightly breathless tone to Agent Wells’ voice, but he suddenly felt a tugging feeling low in his gut. It wrenched painfully across the inside of his ribs and seized the breath in his lungs.

 

It took a moment to place, but it was eerily similar to that god-awful moment he’d seen the blood lining that van and thought it belonged to Alexis. He shook his head-he supposed side effects were to be expected when one swapped bodies-he swallowed roughly as bile rose in his throat, “Uh. Yeah. She goes to Columbia, but she’s been staying with me. I don’t know if we can fool them,” he eyed the agents appraisingly,  “Are you good at lying?”

 

Agent Bering smiled, her hand coming to rest on Agent Wells’ back, rubbing softly under the lining of the bulletproof vest, “You two didn’t guess we were part of a secret organization.”

 

Castle raised his hand, “Uh, I kinda did.” His voice was a little shakier than he’d have liked-that disturbing feeling only just beginning to dissipate- but perhaps because it was not  **his** voice, Beckett didn’t notice.

 

Instead she rolled her eyes, the familiar exasperation as bizarre on Agent Bering’s face as it was comforting to know it was still  _her_ , “You thought the janitor at that high school we worked for a case last month was part of a secret organization.”

 

Castle frowned, crossing his arms awkwardly under his new breasts, “And you have no proof to the contrary.”

 

Castle watched a look of understanding pass between the two secret agents-warehouse agents his mind corrected-and wondered if that was how they appeared, if so, Alexis was right, they were annoyingly adorable.

 

Beckett had already begun to take in the pictures on the wall. They knew one was Ms. Gonzales, the other was dead on the floor, Castle wondered if the last one was still alive…and if he was, if he was the next patsy.

 

Beckett spoke first, “We need to find this guy. Our perps are probably going to use him to try to pawn off the artifact again.” Castle smiled, even in different bodies, they were still in sync. 

 

Agent Bering nodded in agreement, “We’ll use Claudia.”

 

Castle moved back to where the two agents stood in the centre of the room, “Okay, we’re allowed into the Hall of Justice now, what’s a Claudia?”

 

Wells turned to Bering questioningly and Castle heard her lean over to whisper, “Pete made me read that one. Comic book reference.”

 

Wells nodded before turning back to Castle, “Not a what, but a who.”

 

Bering walked over to Beckett and pointed at the strange device still held in her right hand, “If I may?”

 

Beckett handed it over, eying her, and Castle enjoyed seeing the intrigue on her face. Curiosity was what would keep Beckett engaged, keep the weirdness from overwhelming her.  Agent Wells stopped her just before she propped the device open, “While this visage is quite lovely, calling Claudia in this form might be a bit shocking, and after all,” she grinned at Beckett and Castle both in turn, “What better time to practice playing our roles than the present?”

 

Hearing that the device actually worked like a 1950s style Skype was not nearly as impressive as seeing Beckett make the call.

 

The moment she opened the device, everything changed: the way she stood was somehow fluid and yet tightly coiled; the way her mouth quirked into a lopsided grin when the voice on the other end said something amusing; the way she rubbed the back of her neck as she awkwardly sidestepped a personal query of how she and Agent Wells were enjoying the Jacuzzi in the hotel room this Claudia person had booked for them, even the cadence of her voice was altered.

 

When the call ended, Agent Wells pushed a stray lock behind Bering’s ear and smiled adoringly at her, “I think she’s got you down, darling.”

 

Agent Bering nodded, clearing her throat and wiping the surprise off her face, “I think this might actually work.”

 

Castle, for his part, was staring slack-jawed at Beckett. She met his look smugly, “I pay attention.” That innocent twinkle in his eye wasn’t fooling him one bit; she had acting experience. He'd written Nikki Heat as having a theatre major before her mother's death. He smirked at his cunning insight. Even without realizing, he must have picked up it.

 

He opened his mouth to gloat, but the words died on his lips as he watched Beckett slink forward and slip her hand into the back pocket of Agent Bering’s pants, withdrawing a small phone. She looked up to 3 curious gazes, “What? They’re my pants.”

 

Castle shrugged, he couldn’t argue with that, even as the sight of Agent Bering’s body sliding a hand into her girlfriend’s back pocket was uncomfortably arousing…actually no…not uncomfortably, he looked down, aware of the first benefit of this new body. Although he did feel a bit…moist.

 

Beckett cleared her throat, handing the phone to agent Bering, “Alright your turn. You have to call this in.”

 

The next real test came when they had to meet Ryan and Esposito outside of the warehouse. The two walked right up to Bering and Wells and Beckett and himself stood a few feet behind, listening, waiting.

 

Ryan spoke first, “Okay you two, what’s going on?”

 

Agent Bering shook her head and gave a convincingly Beckett-eque apologetic smile, “Sorry guys, classified.” Their friends immediately turned to Wells, obviously assuming Castle would be the easier one to crack. Wells simply nodded.

 

Esposito frowned at her, “Et tu Brutus?”

 

Wells frowned at him, “Et tu Brute.”

 

The two detectives stared questioningly.

 

Wells clarified, kind of, “I believe the name Brutus is a second declension masculine noun, and as that’s a vocative case the -us would be replaced with an –e.”  

 

Esposito thankfully shook it off as on of his quirks, but Ryan was still eying Wells curiously, “First the C.I.A. now the Secret Service. You two get to have all the fun.”

 

Agent Bering shrugged, “Let us know what you find. We have another lead to follow up.”

 

They slipped past the two detectives and the uniforms and techs in their wake. Castle gave Wells an exasperated look.

 

Agent Wells bristled, “What? You’re a writer are you not? He was misquoting Shakespeare.”

~.~.~

Myka sighed as she waited for Helena to get out of the bathroom.  She’d been in there for a while, but Myka remembered from her time as Pete just how tricky it was to work that particular bit out. Her eyes scanned Castle’s penthouse, she had to admit it was lovely, the wall-length windows and lofted ceilings were only two of its many allures. Castle kept prodding her with questions and she was torn between annoyance and amusement.

 

She still wasn’t over how energetically Helena’s body was moving about, such an easy almost careless smile always on  _her_ lips. It was a beautiful sight as much as it hurt to realize how out of place it was. She always treasured the moments of lightness with Helena, and seeing so much of it at once was almost an overload.

 

“Vampires?”

 

“No.”

 

“Mummies?”

 

“No.” Myka could see Beckett pretending to lean indifferently against the back of the couch, but it was her body, after all, Myka could tell she was listening intently.

 

“Zombies?”

 

Her head stopped mid shake, “Well, there was this glass jar at a taco truck, it was here in New York actually,” she could see Castle’s expectant look without even turning her head, “It belonged to the Donner party,” she smirked at his shudder, “Didn’t eat red meat for a month after that one.”

 

Castle’s jaw dropped, “You didn’t actually, you know,” his voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned towards her, “eat people?”

 

Myka’s smile grew, “No, but not for a lack of trying.”

 

Looking at him she felt it again. She wondered if she should intervene. She sighed, giving in to the temptation, “She’s still mad at you.” Her voice was soft, too quiet to carry over to where Beckett stood on the other side of the room.

 

Castle’s brow rose, “How? Did Agent Wells tell you?” Myka bit her cheek to hide her grin; of course Helena had picked up on it, probably lofted the information over him and gave him the task of solving it. She was always doing things like that with Claudia. Claimed she was training her to be a better agent, Myka knew she just enjoys the game. Prone to boredom, something she suspected Helena and Mr. Castle had in common.

 

“No, perhaps we should have mentioned, one of the side effects of the body swap is residual feelings of the body’s owner.” She scrutinized him for a moment, “When I look at you I feel affection,” he smiled, “and aggravation.” The smile fell comically fast.

 

Something seemed to occur to him, she could see the wheels turning, the look not unlike that of Helena just before she had a breakthrough on one of her projects, but before he could speak, Helena finally exited the bathroom, a rather large smirk on her face, “Detective Beckett’s a lucky woman.”

 

“Helena.” She admonished her girlfriend as she could clearly see Beckett gritting her teeth, and really, Castle was in no need of ego inflation.

 

Helena shrugged, completely unapologetic, as the door to the apartment swung open. Myka recognized the redhead from the picture in Castle’s wallet. Alexis. They’d rehearsed what they were going to say, just two agents that were working a case with them spending the night as guests. Helena had been practicing her American accent the entire drive over, but when Myka turned to her she knew instantly that something was very wrong.

 

Helena had gone deathly pale. She was clutching her chest with an almost violent ferocity, and her face…it was like Myka was back in that tomb, stale air and coarse sand and the utter heartbreak of a woman torn from the dream of her long lost child.

 

Beckett and Castle were eying them both expectantly and Alexis had dropped her bags, positively running over at the look on her father’s face. Her mind scrambled. She cursed herself for not seeing this coming. She placed a hand on Helena’s back, “Rick, why don’t you go lie down. You don’t look well.”

 

Helena nodded, spinning on the balls of her feet and practically bolting from the room towards the master bedroom.

 

Myka reached out, putting a soothing hand on Alexis’ shoulder, “Don’t worry about him. Your father decided to get his lunch at a taco truck.”

 

From the way relief and irritation rolled across the girl’s face, Myka knew she’d said the right thing, “Again? I told him after the last time he got food poisoning that those cheese steak burritos weren’t worth it.”

 

Myka shrugged, as if to say ‘what are we going to do with him’ and Alexis’ smile warmed her heart. She became abruptly aware of the other two occupants of the room, “Oh. Your father was going to tell you, but we’re going to have two guests tonight. This is Agent Bering,” she nodded at…herself, that certainly felt weird, “and this is Agent Wells. They’re working on a case with your father and me.” 

 

Alexis nodded, and Myka’s eyes were drawn to the door of the master bedroom, a move that was quickly noticed, “Why don’t you go check on him. If it’s the diarrhea again,” she smirked, “I’d rather not. I’ll just show these agents here our extensive collection of take-out menus.”

 

 Castle smiled with ill-hid pride, “We’d be delighted.”

 

Myka didn’t waste another second, turning around and seeking out Helena. She could hear them talking, Alexis’ curious voice carrying easily through the apartment, “So, FBI?”

 

Beckett answered, “No. Secret Service.”

 

“So cool. When my dad was working with the CIA I didn’t get to meet anyone.”

 

She pushed the door open slowly, aware that the last time she’d seen Helena like this had ended with her being tesla’d. She didn’t see her at first, but on her second scan of the room, her heart leapt into her throat and turned to ash. She swallowed thickly. For such a large man, all curled up on the floor Helena looked remarkably small. And even in her normal body, Helena had almost never looked, small. Her frame was shaking, face obscured by her hands. 

 

She didn’t wait another moment, darting across the room and coming to her knees. Her hand reached out to pull one too large hand to her lips, painting gentle kisses along her knuckles as her other hand wiped the salt trails from her face. They didn’t speak for a long while. Helena’s tears fell without a sound, and Myka kept her hand like it was the most precious thing she’d ever held. And she was. She’d held Pandora’s box in her hands; she’d held an orchid capable of unleashing a plague, but in whatever form, Helena was the most precious thing she’d ever held.

 

Finally a voice roughened by emotion slipped in between the silence of the room, “I felt it. His love for her. His joy. His relief. How much he cherished the very sight of her. He’d almost lost her once. I could feel it.” Her voice broke, brittle and hard along the floor, “if only I had known an almost. I would have never left her side. I would have-”

 

Myka shushed her, well aware of the dangers in wondering, in what ifs, especially from a woman as brilliant as Helena, a woman who could literally shake the earth while under the thrall of what could have been, “You loved Christina. She was loved. She was cherished.”

 

“I didn’t-” 

 

A finger to her lips, “You gave her enough,” she laughed breathlessly and without any amusement, “you gave her everything. She had you. Believe me,” her smile was fragile but genuine, “that’s more than enough.” 

 


End file.
